


Pompano en Papillote

by Heronfem



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean likes to cook, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:38:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heronfem/pseuds/Heronfem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Castiel gets a Buddha, Sam has a bit of a crush, Dean learns a little French, and it has been four months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pompano en Papillote

They find the little gold Buddha in a pawn shop that’s on the sketchier side of Kansas City while tracking down a lead about a particularly nasty angel who’s apparently been killing his way through the gang population. Castiel demands it.

He doesn’t demand many things- in fact, he doesn’t really speak much at all lately-, and so Dean rolls his eyes and shells out a fifty for it without bothering to haggle, because the owner is a squinty eyed bastard who doesn’t seem to know what deodorant or cologne are. They leave the shop, Castiel smugly cradling his new prize, and Dean just rolls his eyes and tells him to get his sorry ass in the car before he makes him walk home.

Sam, of course, is curious. He watches intently as Castiel carts the little Buddha statute off to the room that he’s claimed as _his_ , and then turns to give Dean a Look.

“A Buddha.”

“Yeah. Said he knew him when I asked and then decided he wasn’t talking again,” Dean said, rolling his eyes and draping his jacket over a chair. “You get anything news from that crew in Bangladesh?”

“Nothing much, just that Mahatma is home safe from that Djinn thing, and a very annoyed Farhana Begum showed up last night speaking in tongues,” Sam says with a bit of a laugh. “Apparently, she tangled with an angel and won, but there’ve been a few side effects.”

“Damn. Score for the pretty hijabi lady.” Dean claps him on the shoulder. “We should send a card or something.”

“Right. You go find a card that says “congrats on your angel fight” and we’ll send it,” Sam grins, shaking his head, and Dean laughs, heading off to go and cook.

/\/\

The kitchen is a refuge from the rest of the world, and he lets himself be lulled into relaxation by the scent of frying meat and aromatic spices that waft through the air. His kitchen is massive, beautiful, with soapstone counters and beautifully decorated walls with dainty devil’s traps worked into the design of the baseboards. The appliances have been replaced, thanks to several days work hustling pool, and now he has a beautiful steel sink and the kind of refrigerator that he’s always wanted, pure gleaming silver. The range is spectacular, attached to the island in the center of the kitchen, the cupboards are a smooth, beautiful white, and he is happy.

He’s in the middle of carefully crafting his latest endeavor, from a cookbook that Benny left with him before he was gone (Cajun dishes, he has discovered, are Sam’s great weakness and soul food will make Castiel at least talk to him) when Castiel slinks in to sit on one of the exceptionally 50’s stools around the island, just out of the way of his work.

“Cas, pronounce this for me,” he says without looking up from the careful preparation of the velouté.

Castiel takes the book, raising his eyebrow for a moment before reading aloud, “Pompano en Papillote.”

“Pompano en Papillote,” Dean repeats, the words unfamiliar to his tongue. “Thanks.”

“It was nothing.” Castiel lowers the book, watching as he moves to the creation of the _bouquet garni_ , humming under his breath. “This is a complicated dish.”

“Very,” Dean agrees, adding the parsley, bay leaf, and thyme to the velouté he’s already created. Onion, garlic, and cayenne pepper follow, with a hesitant look at the hot sauce (also one of Benny’s personal recipes) before a tiny drop is let in as well. A small amount of steam puffs up when it hits the water.

“Is there a reason?”

“Not really.” 

That earns him a Look, one that Castiel’s picked up from Sam, and he relents.

“Fine. Cas…It’s been four months.”

The Look is changed to an uncomprehending expression. 

Dean looks back down, staring at the beautiful velouté. “Four months since you came home, and stayed here, with me. Four months, and you finally wanted something for your room, for _yourself_. I wanted…I wanted to celebrate that, even if it was something that didn’t mean much to the rest of you.”

Castiel slips off of his stool, and for a gut wrenching moment Dean’s heart drops, certain that he’s going to run, like he always does, and it’s his fault again, but instead Castiel comes around the island, wrapping his arms around his waist under the heavy denim apron, and rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder. It’s tender, sweet, and Dean is trembling when Castiel gently kisses his neck.

“I know that I’ve been untrustworthy, Dean,” Castiel says, all but whispering in his ear, “but this time, I am going _nowhere_ without you.”

The velouté is bubbling slightly, and Dean is shaking too much, so Castiel carefully lets go to move it to a burner that isn’t on.

“ _Je t'aime très beaucoup et je ne laisse jamais toi nouveau_ ,” Castiel whispers, arms wrapping around him again. “I love you so very much, and I am never leaving you again.”

/\/\

Four months later, Dean is passably fluent in French, Sam is blushing and stumbling over Arabic pronunciation while Farhana smothers her smile, sitting in the Men of Letter’s bunker with the rest of her team from Bangladesh (and yes, she is gorgeous and Sam is so far away from her league it’s almost sad), and Castiel’s little Buddha sits where he was always meant to, on his side of the master suite.

“You know,” Castiel tells Dean from where he’s watching Sam fumble with files as Mahatma and Kanchon try not to laugh and Farhana loses the battle with her smile, “with a few more lessons he could be quite good.”

“Uh huh,” Dean says absently from where he’s focusing intently on the velouté. Castiel rolls his eyes, and comes to wrap his arms around him, chin on his shoulder. It’s become their favorite of positions, and he feels Dean relax under him.

“Are we celebrating?” he asks, kissing Dean’s neck.

“It’s been four months,” Dean says simply, and this time, they kiss properly.

Dinner is a roaring success.

**Author's Note:**

> Fic inspired by the little Buddha in The End, and also Benny totally helped Dean learn how to cook. Nothing will convince me otherwise. They totally talked recipes while whacking off heads in Purgatory.


End file.
